hildren by setting them easy
sums on the wall, scratched with a nail, and drawing pictures for them
with the same implement, accompanied with stories, as thus:--"Once on a
time there was a poor Christian captive in this very dungeon--here he is
(drawing his picture)--sentenced to be thrown to the lions (picture).
Once he had been a little boy like this (picture), fond of playing with
other little boys (picture), and ready to carry his mother's pitcher to
the well (picture), or sweep her floor (picture), or make himself useful
to her in any way whatever. One day,"--and so forth. Gabrielle's fancy
was tickled with this, and when Madeleine desisted she continued it,
though now and then with a furtive yawn. Meanwhile my father was
pondering over the papers he had about him, and sitting immersed in
thought, or now and then saying a little to my mother. By-and-by he
ventured out a little without quitting the precincts of the
amphitheatre, and returned, saying several tramps were loitering about,
whose attention it would not be prudent to attract. The day, which
seemed the longest I ever knew, at length drew to a close, which we only
learnt by my father's watch, for we were out of hearing of the town
clocks. He said it would make time pass less heavily if we divided it
methodically, and had our set hours for meals, rest, prayer, and mutual
improvement, whether by exhortation, discussion, or general discourse,
We followed his lead as well as we could, but our thoughts were chiefly
with the outer world.

Just after the women and children had retired for the night to a little
inner dungeon, La Croissette once more presented himself uninvited.

"I thought, messieurs, you might like to hear the news of the day,"
said he.

"Most certainly," said my father. "Pray be seated. I wish I had a better
seat to offer you. What is stirring?"

"The news, then, is, that Nismes is being converted as fast as
possible," said La Croissette. "No persuader, sirs, like fire and sword.
Dragoons are quartered on every Protestant. They are destroying whatever
they cannot make booty of. Some are littering their fine black horses
with bales of broadcloth, silk, and cotton; others with fine Holland
cloths. The common people are being driven to church at the sword's
point, and conforming by shoals. The gentry give more trouble, but end
by coming round."

"Some may--some weak-hearted persons," said my father, reluctantly.

"Well, they may be weak-heart